


Days of Glory

by Lomonaaeren



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Courtship, Fluff, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 06:42:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/619206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomonaaeren/pseuds/Lomonaaeren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco is coming up with the perfect gifts to send to Harry; now if only Harry will be flattered into accepting them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Days of Glory

**Author's Note:**

> This is the last of my Advent fics, written for your_huckleberry, who gave me the prompt of Harry/Draco 8Th year Draco finally realizes that he has always wanted Harry's attention because he fancy's him. He also finds out about Harry's lack of present from the Dursleys growing up. Draco decide to woo Harry by giving him very special meaningful gifts each day before Christmas. Gifts that would mean something to Harry but also show him who Draco really is and how he feels. This is basically all you need to know about this fic.

  
Draco leaned back and exhaled softly as he watched his owl beat down the air towards Harry Potter’s table. Here it began, and he still had no idea whether his gift would be accepted or rejected, thoughtful though he’d tried to be.  
  
The owl landed in a storm of other owls at the table, mostly ignored by everyone around them. The Gryffindors—and by extension, the rest of the students—had got used to Christmas cards for Harry that talked, and proposals of marriage, and offers to adopt him. Most of those scrolls and packages were far more elaborate than Draco’s dainty box, wrapped with a green ribbon on top.  
  
Harry frowned and picked up the box, then cast a charm on it that made a puff of white smoke rise from the box and caused Draco to jump. He should have reckoned Harry would do that, he decided a moment later. Some of those “gifts” had had Dark curses on them. Luckily, that particular spell wasn’t one that could damage this particular present, but it would be a good thing to remember for the future.  
  
The fact that there were no curses on the box seemed to intrigue Harry further. He lifted it, turned it back and forth, and then held it to his ear and shook it.  
  
Draco found himself smiling before he thought about it. And the force of that smile, and his gaze, made Harry lift his head.  
  
Draco did his best not to flinch as Harry’s eyes met his. He didn’t think Harry realized how overwhelming a simple glance from him could be since he’d defeated the Dark Lord. And it didn’t have anything to do with him being “The Most Powerful Wizard in the World!!!”, as the _Prophet_ had tried to dub him, or even—much—with Draco’s pathetic gratitude for his freedom. It was just that Harry was happier now, and the sight of him with joy in his eyes, combined with his general looks, made for a heady combination.  
  
Harry, now, cocked his head to the side and gave Draco a slow once-over that made Draco lick his lips. Then Draco bowed his head and smiled again, and not even someone who hadn’t received many gifts in his life, like Harry, could mistake his intent.  
  
Harry slowly pulled off the paper, looking at Draco all the while as though to emphasize that he wanted him where he could keep an eye on him. Since Draco hardly wanted to run away, he leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head.  
  
Harry blinked, but he had more or less demanded that compliance, and he was too generous of soul to resent something he had demanded once he had it. He separated the bow and looked down at what Draco had given him.  
  
Now _I realize he’s too generous to resent it,_ Draco thought, half-shaking his head at himself. _If I had known before why I wanted so much of his attention, we could have saved a lot of time._  
  
But he hadn’t, and he refused to blame his younger self, either. He was trying to learn to be generous, too.  
  
He held his breath anyway as Harry held up the treacle tart inside—the finest from Honeydukes, in a small package of white paper that Draco knew from touching it would crinkle and bend around the sweet—and stared. Then Harry went back to looking at Draco, blinking slowly.  
  
Draco spread his hands and bowed his head. _I’ve observed you closely enough to know that’s your favorite sweet._  
  
That was what the message was meant to say. Harry might not understand it yet, but that wasn’t the only gift Draco intended to send. He would know before long.  
  
*  
  
“All right, Malfoy, but _why_?”  
  
The next gift Draco had wanted to give in the middle of the day, to show that he cared enough to make an effort and wouldn’t simply send his gifts with the morning owl post all the time. He had waited until he had run into Harry in the dungeons, hurrying to Potions, and fallen into step with him, holding the small box out.  
  
Harry stared at him, his head tilted, that gaze making Draco feel as though someone was tapping his bones with a glass hammer. He stood up under it and smiled, because he wanted to, but let the smile vanish when he felt how false it was.  
  
“Two reasons,” Draco said. “Because of that article that came out a fortnight ago, and that line in the article about your relatives never giving you Christmas presents.”  
  
Harry promptly straightened and glared, as though someone had told him the Dark Lord had come back and he had to prepare himself to meet the challenge. Draco couldn’t keep the smile from popping up again. This time, the smile was different, was assessing and deep, and was combined with a flicker of his eyes down Harry’s body, but he honestly wasn’t sure Harry had noticed.  
  
“Someone interviewed my relatives who shouldn’t have,” Harry said, his voice thick. “No one from the wizarding world is even supposed to _know_ about them.”  
  
“But someone did,” Draco said, who had done a little investigation work and bribery of his own—having the Malfoy fortune at his disposal was another thing he owed to Harry—and was relatively confident that one of the Aurors who’d guarded Harry’s family during the war had gossiped. “And I want you to have presents.”  
  
Harry shook his head. “You must have seen that I have plenty by now. My _fans_ are going to make sure that I don’t ever go hungry or naked again.”  
  
Draco shuddered at the word “naked,” and this time _hoped_ Harry hadn’t noticed. “I’m not a fan,” he said. “Those gifts don’t mean anything. Mine do.” He held out the small box again.  
  
Harry glared at it, but only cast one spell to detect hexes and the like before taking it from Draco.  
  
“I hope you enjoyed the treacle tart,” Draco murmured politely.  
  
Harry glared at him again. “What makes you think I’ve even _eaten_ it?”  
  
“There’s still a trace of it at the corner of your mouth,” Draco said, and smirked when Harry reached up and wiped hastily at it. “The next time you want to lie to me, pick a more convincing deception.”  
  
Harry rolled his eyes and opened the box with an air that said he was going to throw it away as soon as he saw what was inside it. Draco stepped back with his hands in the air. It was nothing to him, what Harry did with the box, no matter that it was a small and fine one, perfectly adapted to the size of its contents.  
  
What was inside the box, on the other hand, mattered rather more to Draco.  
  
Harry _did_ stare when he saw it. Well, perhaps he didn’t know what it was. He picked up the small dragonhide leather case and blinked at Draco, turning it around in his hands. Draco noticed the way Harry’s fingers rubbed at the dragonhide despite himself, enjoying the feel of the genuine leather, and approved. He was glad that Harry had some feeling for the finer things, whether he had been permitted to express it before this or not.  
  
“What is it?” Harry finally asked, proving one of Draco’s suspicions true.  
  
Draco inclined his head. “It’s a case for your watch,” he said, and nodded to the battered watch that hung on a chain from Harry’s robe, near his school tie. Harry reached up and closed a hand around the watch, the way he often did, as though every dint in it was precious to him. It probably was, Draco had to concede. He had overheard Harry talking with his friends, and knew the watch had been a present from Weasley’s mother.  
  
“You don’t _have_ to,” Harry said. “And I—I _like_ the way the watch works. I don’t have to hide it.” This time, his eyes spat specific fire at Draco, for trying to hide his precious scraped and scarred toy.  
  
“This isn’t to hide it,” Draco said. “This is to protect it. May I?” He reached out, and either astonishment or something else made Harry hand the watch case to him. “Thank you. Look and learn.”  
  
He slid the case around the watch. The enchantments worked into the dragonhide sparked to life, and the case immediately resized itself to fit Harry’s watch. At the same time, a small white glow sprang up around it, circular and dancing. Harry blinked against the light, but he was an expert on defensive magic, and Draco knew there was no way he could mistake the glow for anything other than what it was: the light of a protective charm.  
  
“It—it _is_ that,” Harry said, with as much astonishment and wonder as though this was the first gift Draco had given him, and reached up to touch the watch case. His hand came to rest on top of Draco’s.  
  
Draco had to breathe gently, and even more so when his other hand, which he hadn’t really been paying attention to, strayed down and touched Harry’s chest above the heart. He felt that life running and thrumming out its seconds, while the watch ticked them, and he closed his eyes.  
  
“You said there were two reasons why you wanted to give me gifts,” Harry said. His voice sounded distant. “What was the second one?”  
  
“I _really_ want your attention,” Draco said, opening his eyes. “I fancy you.”  
  
Harry stared at him, but didn’t gape the way Draco had expected. Of course, since the war, he had probably become accustomed to people telling him that. “And giving me gifts is the way to get my attention?” he asked.  
  
“It’s my way,” Draco said, and smoothed down both Harry’s robe and the leather of the watch case once more before he stepped back. “Do you like it?”  
  
Harry looked down and nodded, as though reluctantly. Draco nodded back and turned to go down the corridor to Potions, already planning where he would give Harry the next gift.  
  
“Malfoy.”  
  
Draco tilted his head back without completely turning around. He didn’t want to give Harry anything to throw in his face.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
And Draco _had_ to look back, but he caught only a glimpse of robes and tangled black hair as Harry ran madly past him towards the classroom.  
  
*  
  
The third gift, Draco considered, should be given in the place where it would be used, so he walked out towards the Quidditch Pitch and stood there, quite openly, watching the Gryffindor team practice. It wasn’t like everyone on the team hadn’t already seen him give a gift to Harry already, so this was perfect.  
  
Weasley was the first one who came down and landed in front of him, which Draco had privately predicted would happen. His hair was windblown, his face caught in what looked like a permanent squint, and the first thing he did was point an accusing finger at Draco. Draco looked at the finger calmly. It wasn’t a wand, which meant his calmness wasn’t an act.  
  
“What are you doing here?” Weasley snapped. “I know you think you’re _clever,_ with all the gifts you’re holding out to Harry, but I can see through them, and I’ll have you know that you can’t buy Harry’s affection—”  
  
“You make me sound like your girlfriend,” Harry said from behind Weasley. “Are you going to start fighting over me next?”  
  
“I’d be ready to be at your side as a second,” Draco said, with a smile that he knew was charming because his mirror had told him so that morning, while Weasley glared. “But _I_ think you can fight your own battles, Harry.”  
  
“I think the same thing!” Weasley snapped, and then paused, realizing that he had committed the horrible sin of agreeing with a Malfoy. He turned around and stretched out a hand to Harry. “You know I’m only trying to look out for you, right, mate?”  
  
 _At least he has the right instincts and knows that Harry’s friendship is more important for him to retain than his own indignation,_ Draco thought. That particular instinct of Weasley’s made him much more tolerable than Draco would have thought he could be.  
  
Harry smiled, shook his friend’s hand, and moved forwards to face Draco. “I know you are, Ron,” he said over his shoulder. “But in this case, Malfoy’s explained what he’s doing to me, and I approve of it.”  
  
“He’s _explained_ it?” Weasley echoed blankly.  
  
Draco laughed softly, but didn’t look over at Weasley to make sure that he didn’t take it the wrong way, because, faced with Harry’s eyes, he couldn’t look anywhere else. “Was I really that bad about mysterious plans?”  
  
“Especially during our sixth year,” Harry said, and his eyes darted to the side. Draco blinked, wondering if Harry thought his Housemates had followed him down to the pitch, and then realized what was going on. Harry was trying to look for his gift without being obvious.  
  
 _He does want them,_ Draco thought, as he dropped the Disillusionment Charm on the gift floating beside him. _He doesn’t want anyone else to know that, maybe. His friends might think he was too materialistic. But they appeal to him. He likes being given special Christmas presents. I knew he would._  
  
Harry knew what the brightly-wrapped package was right away, of course. Draco could wrap it, but he couldn’t hide the shape. He snapped his head up to fasten his eyes on Draco’s face, and for the first time, he shook his head and took a step away.  
  
“I couldn’t,” he said. “It’s—I mean, it’s _too_ expensive. It’s all right if you want to get me small things, but I couldn’t take something like that.” His hand rose to touch the watch in its case.  
  
Draco smiled at him. “That case cost more than this,” he said, gesturing at the wrapped broom. “It’s made of genuine dragonhide, and this broom isn’t.” He crossed gazes with Harry as he thought they might cross wands, and so he leaned nearer and dropped his voice, trying to ignore that they had not only Weasley but the rest of the curious Gryffindor team as an audience. “Let me spend money on you, Harry. Please.”  
  
That was meant to be the message of this gift, that he wanted Harry to be happy, and the money was no object. And neither was the advantage that the broom would give Harry the next time they crossed paths in a Quidditch game—although Draco still intended to play fiercely, the same way he would play to win in his courtship of Harry.  
  
Harry hesitated. Then he nodded and reached out, ripping the paper from the broom with hands that shook.  
  
It was a Nimbus 2100, the latest model, which had only been out for a few months. Draco saw the way that Harry’s hands immediately strayed over to stroke the bristles, and the expert way he spun it a moment later to study the lines, and smiled. Yes, this was the kind of broom that Harry would have bought for himself if he could have afforded it—  
  
Then Draco paused, and revised the situation in his mind. Harry _could_ have afforded it, he was sure. He had the Potter money, which hadn’t been a small hoard, and as Draco had learned from the rantings of his Aunt Bellatrix some years ago, the Black fortune had gone to Potter as well. So why _not_ buy the best broom on the market?  
  
Harry’s eyes and hands were busy on the broom, and he glanced up at Draco a moment later with a softened face, his cheeks flushing.  
  
 _The answer’s right there in that newspaper article, for anyone who thinks to look for it,_ Draco thought. _He still doesn’t_ think _about spending money on himself. It’s not that he doesn’t really want to, and he would probably say that he deserved the nice things if you asked him. But he puts his needs low down on the list of priorities, and it’s up to someone else to remember them for him.  
  
I want to be that person._  
  
Harry glanced up again, and suddenly blinked and raised the broom almost as a shield. Draco blinked back, and then realized how clearly his desire was showing through. He smiled and stepped away, letting the moment turn casual again.  
  
“I hope you enjoy the broom, Harry,” he said, and bowed with his hands out again, and retreated. He could hear the rest of the Gryffindor team clamoring to try the broom out, and wondering aloud why a Slytherin would have sacrificed his team’s advantage against them by giving the best broom to the best Seeker.  
  
Draco did turn back once. If Harry carried his self-sacrificing nature far enough to let someone else ride his new broom first—  
  
But he was greeted with the sight of the Nimbus 2100 rising up into the air, incomparably faster and smoother and gentler than the school broom Harry had been riding before, and Harry astride it with his head back, his hands clamped on the shaft, the line of his back and throat one silent shout of ecstasy.  
  
Draco smiled, and left.  
  
*  
  
“This can’t be the same one.”  
  
Harry’s voice was shaking a little. Draco paused outside the Transfiguration classroom. He had arranged to have his gift delivered by owl this time, to Harry at breakfast, after Draco had already left. He had wanted to give Harry some time to get used to what was inside the package, and decide what his response was.  
  
But he hadn’t meant to cause the kind of reaction he thought he could hear now. He leaned against the wall and listened.  
  
“Of course it’s not the same one.” Granger’s voice was gentler than Draco had ever heard it, and for the first time, he thought he could see why someone like Harry might have found her likeable enough to be friends with. “The original ones would have been lost when Voldemort attacked your parents. But—” From the soft sound of skin against metal, which Draco heard by straining his ears a little, Granger was turning Draco’s gift over in her hands.  
  
“Oh.” Granger made the little sighing sound that Draco would have preferred to hear from Harry, but at this point he would take anything he could get.  
  
“What?” Draco couldn’t resist sticking his head around the corner at that point, just to make sure that what he imagined matched the reality, and yes, Harry was all but hopping up and down in place, his hands clenched in front of him and his eyes fastened on Draco’s gift.  
  
A delicate, simple golden wedding ring, with a _P_ carved on the garnet that was the single stone. The kind of wedding ring that all the sources Draco could find and talk to said James Potter had presented to Lily Evans when he asked her to marry him.  
  
The originals were gone. But there were still jewelers in the world, talented ones, who could work from detailed descriptions.  
  
“It’s a replica,” Granger said softly, her eyes bent on the ring. “Yes.” Her fingers rubbed the garnet as though reluctant to let it go. “He wanted to make a ring that was exactly like your father’s traditional wedding ring, I reckon. Maybe like the ring that lots of Potters had married with.” She held the replica out to Harry again.  
  
“But why?” Harry stared down at the _P_ and turned it over and over again, his hands twitching as though he didn’t know whether he wanted to hang onto the ring or fling it from him as hard as he could.  
  
“Because even though I couldn’t give you the original back, I wanted to give you something that reminds you of your parents,” Draco said, and stepped into the room.  
  
Granger backed up a little and reached for her wand. But Harry turned to face him with that same trust he had displayed when Draco was fastening the case around his watch. “But that would mean,” he began, and stopped.  
  
Draco nodded, his eyes never moving from Harry’s face. That was partially through choice, of course, but he also doubted that he _could_ have moved them if he wanted to, given what he was feeling right now. _God, he’s beautiful._ “Go on, Harry,” he whispered.  
  
“That would mean that you want to give me some sort of heirloom from my pure-blood family,” Harry said, and tumbled and spun the ring through his fingers as though it was a new kind of Snitch. “But what about my mum?”  
  
There it was, out, between them, the question Draco had thought neither of them would ask until their fledgling love affair was much older. But perhaps Harry had needed to ask it now. The sadness in his eyes was unexpectedly old—older, Draco thought, than Hogwarts and people telling him his mother was a Mudblood.  
  
He began to wish that the newspaper reporter who had talked to Harry’s family, or rather to the Aurors who had guarded them, had probed rather deeper, so that Draco would know how far he had to go to heal the wounds they’d inflicted on Harry.  
  
But he only knew what he knew, so Draco said softly, “This is a replica of the ring he gave to her. Not the one she gave to him. I wanted you to know that I—honor her in you.” He knew what he _meant_ , but all the weeks of thinking, all the weeks of planning what to give Harry for these gifts, hadn’t told him the right words to say. He hoped these words would function.  
  
From the stunned look on Harry’s face, they had done more than that. He made the smallest of choked sounds and took a step towards Draco, then stopped. His hand was out, wavering as though he didn’t know whether to hope that Draco would take it or not.  
  
Draco took the choice, and perhaps some of the anxiety, out of Harry’s hands by moving forwards and clasping his wrist. He heard Granger mumble some excuse and take herself off. Good. Draco didn’t mind her as much as he had, but he thought he should be alone with Harry for this.  
  
“Why?” Harry whispered. “I mean, of all the gifts you could offer me that might have something to do with my parents or the Potter line, why _this_?” But his free hand had tightened into a fist over the ring, which Draco saw with satisfaction. He doubted that Harry had any idea of giving it up.  
  
“Because you already have photographs of your parents, and I wanted my gift to be original,” Draco said, holding his gaze. “And as for the second reason, I think you know it this time.”  
  
Harry blushed violently, but from his breathing, he was excited, too. Draco spared him the embarrassment, at the moment, of glancing down to make _sure_ he was. That could wait.  
  
Instead, he leaned forwards and kissed Harry’s cheek. He kept it long and lingering, his lips learning the feeling of the skin and the contour of Harry’s face, but chaste. Harry might still bolt if Draco pressed him too hard at the beginning.  
  
Then he moved back, and bowed, not taking his eyes from Harry’s face, once again. “I hope that you’ll like the next two gifts as well,” he said.  
  
“Only two more?”  
  
Draco smiled in spite of himself at the tone in Harry’s voice. “Yes, only two more,” he said. “Only two more as part of this Christmas courting process, anyway. After that, if everything goes well and you accept the last gift, then you can let me give you as many as you want.”  
  
Harry’s color heightened, but his breathing only quickened, and his hand tightened in a swift, crushing grip on Draco’s that reminded Draco of the way he held the Snitch during games. “I look forward to it,” Harry murmured, and walked past out the door, leaving Draco feeling as if he could fly without a broom.  
  
*  
  
Draco took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. He had to deliver this gift to Harry himself, since, like the broom, it was too heavy for a single owl to carry. And it was rather private anyway.  
  
He just wished he could know ahead of time that it was going to work out.  
  
He shook his head, and walked forwards. He’d sent an owl asking Harry to meet him near the Forbidden Forest, and Harry had agreed without question. Draco valued that trust more than he could say, but—he glanced down at the square, bulky package in his hands—he might be breaking it with this gift.  
  
 _Enough. You’ve made the decision, and it’s too late to regret it now._  
  
Yes, it was. Draco lifted his head and crossed the last ten meters of distance to the tree under which Harry stood waiting for him.  
  
“What do you have for me this time?” Harry was smiling a little, gently, and looking at Draco as though he wondered whether the present was one that he would have to run away from.  
  
“Something you may like or hate me for,” Draco said frankly, setting the package on one end and smiling at Harry. “I haven’t decided yet.”  
  
Harry blinked. Then he said, “I reckon that’s up to _me_ to decide, isn’t it?” and reached for the string of the paper that tied the package shut.  
  
Draco nodded, although Harry didn’t seem to be paying much attention to him now, and backed quietly out of the way. The packaging fell away, and he saw the way Harry’s chest moved when he caught sight of the edge of the frame. He turned the portrait around, and stared at it for a little while.  
  
“Professor Snape?” Harry said at last. His voice was weird, strangled, choked. Draco backed a step further away, and then shook himself and stood still. Yes, perhaps he _would_ regret this decision. It was even more than likely, the way he had regretted a lot of his past interactions with Harry. But he wouldn’t run.  
  
“What do _you_ want, Potter?” came Professor Snape’s irritable voice from within the frame. “It isn’t enough that I must be bothered by you when I was alive, I must now be bothered with you in death?”  
  
“I—Draco gave you to me,” Harry said, and despite wanting to watch all the expressions on Harry’s face, Draco had to close his eyes at the sweetness of hearing his first name from Harry’s lips. “I had no idea there was more than one portrait of you in existence. If you don’t want me to hang you on the wall of my house, I won’t.”  
  
Draco blinked rapidly. That kind of honesty wasn’t something he had anticipated Harry confronting the portrait with. He doubted it would win Snape the way it had won him, but at least he knew that Harry probably wouldn’t hate him now.  
  
“You may do as you please with the portrait,” Snape said, with a sniff that Draco remembered him giving over Gryffindor potions that didn’t turn out to be up to his standards—which meant all of them, bar an occasional exception for Granger. “I do not expect to be visiting it often, except when I need a holiday from Albus. Do _not_ keep a portrait open for him.”  
  
“I won’t.”  
  
Draco smiled in relief. He had contemplated commissioning a second portrait of Dumbledore for Harry, but decided in the end that Harry might not want to be reminded of the Headmaster. The steel in Harry’s voice said he wouldn’t—but perhaps for different reasons than Draco had assumed. Draco wondered what that was about, and how soon he could know. He wanted to know _everything_ about Harry, with the same greedy desire for knowledge that he had once used on flying.  
  
“Then you may hang me on your wall,” Snape said, and, from the sound of it, stepped out of the side of the portrait frame a moment later. Perhaps he found Dumbledore’s company less overwhelming right now than the sight of Harry’s face.  
  
Harry put the edge of the portrait down on the grass and took a long moment to breathe, as though he had heaved the full weight of it somewhere. Then he looked at Draco and shook his head. “How did you know?” he whispered.  
  
“Know what?” Draco took a few delicate steps nearer. “I meant what I said about wanting to give you a message for each gift, but the one I intended might be different than the one you _get_ from it. After all, I’m outside your head, and only human.”  
  
Harry shook his head again. “What did you intend with this gift?” he whispered instead of answering.  
  
Draco knew better than to demand that Harry answer _his_ question first. It might take a Malfoy a long time, but they did remember the things they learned. “I wanted to surprise you,” Draco said quietly, studying Harry’s face. “And I thought that—well, I wanted to take a risk because of something I overheard you saying to your friends, about how you didn’t get the chance to argue and talk things over with Professor Snape like you wanted, and you didn’t get the chance to tell him he was a hero. I thought this might work to let you do it.”  
  
Harry smiled slowly, dazzlingly. It was a wonder no one else in school appeared to want to be Draco’s competition, Draco thought, in a daze. Of course, maybe they had never seen Harry smile like that.  
  
“That was what I wondered how you knew,” Harry said, and came forwards to kiss him, and his hands were wicked and busy on Draco’s shoulders, and Draco felt more confident about his last gift in the courting process than ever.  
  
*  
  
This time, it was a heavily-warded clearing in the Forbidden Forest itself that Draco hesitated to walk into. He had built it himself, and he knew the wards were sufficient to hold away even centaurs, on the off-chance that they became curious about what was happening here and tried to intrude. He knew there was a soft couch inside, and a fireplace made of stones that would hold any fire he and Harry chose to put there. He had no real doubt of finding Harry there, either, not after the owl he had written that afternoon.  
  
It was the _other_ thing inside that made him nervous.  
  
But nervousness was not the same thing as fear, and in the end, Draco found himself able to step through the small doorway—the hole in the wards—and face the future he wanted to grab with both hands.  
  
Harry looked up with a smile from the couch. He had a book propped on his knees, a Transfiguration textbook from the library, but he put it down next to him and stood up to welcome Draco into his embrace.  
  
Draco kissed him, gently on the lips, hard on the cheek, and then gently on the lips again. He wondered if Harry could feel his heartbeat. Maybe, because Harry pulled back and looked at him a bit questioningly.  
  
“So you’re here and I’m here,” he said, “but I don’t see a gift.” He looked around as though he might have missed it. The small clearing was luxurious, warm with the fire, bright with the cushions on the couch—and the canopies on the bed—but there weren’t a lot of places to hide a present.  
  
Draco took a deep breath. Then he stepped back and reached for his tie, unknotting it. Harry blinked and focused on it for a second, then snapped his gaze back up and inhaled sharply when Draco began to undo his shirt.  
  
“This is the last gift,” Draco said, pausing when he’d slid the shirt back just enough that Harry could see the scars on his chest from the curse he’d used two years ago, and the fact that his left arm had no Dark Mark. “Me, for as long as you want me. If you’ll have me.” His vision was blurry, and he found himself swaying back and forth on his feet.  
  
Harry made a muffled exclamation. Then he crossed the distance between them, and _he_ was the one who shoved Draco towards the bed, his hands impatient and rough, his eyes so bright that it almost hurt to look at them. Perhaps it _would_ have hurt someone besides Draco, who had had long enough to prepare for this day.  
  
“Yes,” Harry said. “I’ve wanted to—shit, I’ve probably wanted to since you gave me that fucking watch case, but I didn’t know where this was going, or how fast. But I _want_ to. I want to see what it’s like, and what you’re like, and what’s going to happen next. _Yes_.” He paused and grinned at Draco. “Will you believe that I thought this was where you slept when you wanted to be alone, and the bed was for that?”  
  
“I can believe anything of your adorable Gryffindor naiveté,” Draco said solemnly, and bent to kiss him. “But never _alone_ —”  
  
That was as far as he got before Harry knocked him onto the bed and climbed on top of him. He was trying to take off his glasses and his own shirt and tie at once, and the glasses got tangled up in the shirt and went flying. Draco laughed silently, his mouth open, and then reached up and did his best to help.  
  
When Harry’s chest was bare, like Draco’s, Harry lay down on top of him and kissed him again. Draco spread his legs wide, welcoming Harry in as he sank, so that for long moments they were hip to hip, and thigh to thigh, and certainly mouth to mouth.  
  
And then cock to cock.  
  
Draco gasped, Harry gasped, it was a regular gasping contest. But Harry was the one who sat up, and with the same gleam of challenge in his eyes that he used on the Quidditch field, began to move.  
  
“You’ve given me so much,” Draco heard him whisper somewhere beyond his own incoherent pleasure, and felt his own pulse of surprise that Harry was the one who was articulate at a time like this, instead of Draco, who had always prided himself on the sharpness of his tongue. “So _much_ , I don’t know how to encompass it, I don’t know what to say—”  
  
“This is enough,” Draco managed to whisper, as Harry stiffened above him and came in a series of little pulses, his rocking deliciously still, Draco’s own pleasure in abeyance for a moment as he opened his eyes and watched Harry above him. “Like this.”  
  
He gave himself over, then, and came in his own pants, too thrilled and delighted to do otherwise.  
  
When he returned to what felt like consciousness, Harry was lying on top of him and kissing him, and his hands were locked on either side of Draco’s hips as though measuring him for a frame of his own.  
  
“I think I’ll keep the portrait in the drawing room, and the broom in the cupboard,” Harry whispered drowsily into his ear. “The watch case on the watch, of course. The ring on my finger.” He smiled against Draco’s ear. “The treacle tart’s already gone.” His hands tightened again. “And you in my bed. What do you say to that?”  
  
“I think it’s the best arrangement anyone ever thought of,” Draco answered, and turned his head to kiss his own gift.  
  
 **The End.**


End file.
